


nosey rosey

by princegrantaire



Category: DCU (Comics), Green Lantern (Comics), Green Lantern - All Media Types
Genre: Bedrooms, Casual Sex, Enemies to Lovers, Interior Decorating, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24066025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princegrantaire/pseuds/princegrantaire
Summary: Hal’s free to head home, at last, and instead of making a run for terra firma and the first burger place he comes across like any lantern worth his salt, he’s fast approaching Ranx. Yeah,Ranx. Not like it takes Sinestro butting in on a very muchprivatecomm channel to get Hal at his beck and call, it’s just that-- there’s other ways to relax and, maybe, in his heart of hearts, Hal had been worried after a hasty departure in the awake of their latest shameful tryst. That’s the technical term for what they’re doing, he’s sure.(Hal's left alone in Sinestro's bedroom. Naturally, he snoops around.)
Relationships: Hal Jordan/Thaal Sinestro
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	nosey rosey

**Author's Note:**

> my bestest buddy in the world @slaapkat & i were talking about how sinestro's lost his home so many times he probably doesn't or can't hold on to too many personal effects and anything resembling his place must be straight out of how bruce timm draws rooms. this is... a prolonged exploration of that, minus (most of) the necessary angst.
> 
> enjoy!

It’s been a long, hard day and Hal’s been in space for nearly forty-eight hours by now. The ring keeps him going, as it’s always had, but it’s never pleasant, less so when he’s spent what feels like the majority of his life dreaming of anything resembling the meager comforts his apartment’s got to offer.

A mattress, usually.

A hot shower, if he’s lucky.

Nothing’s ever sounded more like complete and utter bliss.

Point being? Hal’s free to head home, at last, and instead of making a run for terra firma and the first burger place he comes across like any lantern worth his salt, he’s fast approaching Ranx. Yeah, _Ranx_. Not like it takes Sinestro butting in on a very much _private_ comm channel to get Hal at his beck and call, it’s just that-- there’s other ways to relax and, maybe, in his heart of hearts, Hal had been worried after a hasty departure in the awake of their latest shameful tryst. That’s the technical term for what they’re doing, he’s sure.

“Hey, I’m pretty close,” he says over the comms, floating in place for a minute or two. Close enough, anyways. Hal doesn’t wanna risk Ranx himself -- itself? -- knowing he’s in the habit of messing around with Sinestro for no good reason. “Any tips on gettin’ in?”

There’s an odd sense of trepidation here, settling in uncomfortably somewhere between his ribs. Should’ve gone for the burgers.

“There are no traps, Jordan,” comes Sinestro’s belated reply, which might just be the verbal equivalent of a Looney Tunes trap waiting to spring up on Hal the moment he steps inside. Yeah, right, like getting into Ranx is as easy as casually strolling in.

“Dude.”

In hindsight, it’s the first time they’ve done… this on what might be classified as Sinestro’s territory. As far as Hal can tell, the semi-regular visits to Coast City and the alien on his balcony, when he’s got one, have become worryingly close to something like routine. Easy. Nothing’s ever _easy_ with Sinestro. There’s a reason he’s been brought here and somewhere in the midst of the prolonged silences, Hal’s started feeling real dumb. If he’s about to be unceremoniously murdered, it’s well deserved.

“Ranx has agreed to let you in,” Sinestro says, eventually, and Hal nearly bursts out laughing right then and there.

_Great_.

Hal does fly in, against whatever sense of self-preservation is yet to be drilled out of him, and he encounters no resistance. In fact, save for the lean figure waiting just beyond the first corridor of what Hal’s not-so-affectionately dubbed _Sin HQ_ , the sentient planet seems just about abandoned. An underlying awkwardness occurs to Hal, very nearly foreign. “Did you kick everyone out or what?” Hal jokes, sort of echo-y and falling decidedly flat. He cringes.

For his part, once Hal’s close enough to see, Sinestro quirks an eyebrow, as if he’s yet to notice his deserted surroundings. Ranx, like Mogo, is not too far off from a labyrinth at first glance, though everything’s black and yellow, as on brand as it ever gets. It still strikes Hal as the world’s most obvious assassination attempt, though that might just be Sinestro’s general presence, which tends to inspire that kind of thing.

“Follow me,” is all Sinestro’s got to say as he turns and leads the way through what’s gotta be more hallways than Hal can currently handle.

“Y’know,” Hal starts, sorta hovering alongside Sinestro, “I could’ve been passed out at home by now.”

“On your deplorable mattress? Please.” Sinestro shakes his head, snorting as he elbows Hal hard enough to throw him off balance. It feels, quite frankly, like the worst encounter of the third kind of Hal’s life; and he’s had a couple. Familarity’s fine, he can deal with it just _fine_ , there’s still enough flotsam and jetsam of a former friendship to go around but Sinestro’s not ever this-- _airy_ , for lack of any other way to put it. There’s a lightness to him that Hal doesn’t know what he’s meant to do with.

So, in lieu of any solutions, he keeps walking.

Maybe it’s one of _those_ things, complete and utter acceptance of one’s death bringing on an eerie calm, Hal’s read about stuff like that. Or, heard about it. Whatever. There’s a good chance Sinestro’s accepted _Hal’s_ inevitable death in the depths of Ranx.

“Are you just like, really feeling it or am I about to die?” Hal asks, only once the tension reaches unbearable heights.

Sinestro presses his hand against a previously unseen panel next to the latest door they’ve found themselves in front of and mutters something in what might be Korugarian, too quick for either ring to catch. The door slides open to reveal--

Well, it’s a _bedroom_.

There is certainly a bed in there, smack dab in the middle of the room and not particularly alien in nature despite its roundish corners, disappointingly grey. Hal frowns a little, unaccountably let down by expectations he didn’t know he had to begin with. There’s precious little to look at -- the walls, too, are bare and with the sole exception of two nightstands of the same golden-yellow as the rest of Ranx on either side of the bed, Sinestro doesn’t appear to believe in anything resembling interior design.

Hal backtracks, mostly mentally.

It’s either a disturbingly telling glimpse of Sinestro’s inner mechanisms or, he guesses, a symptom of something unbelievably incurable. Hal can’t quite come to terms with the bed in the middle of the room and the sheer criminal insanity that requires. He breathes out a chuckle, all disbelief, and turns to face Sinestro as he steps inside, ready to _ask_ because he’s gotta know.

But, instead, Sinestro’s pushing him against the nearest wall, already mouthing at his neck, up high where the uniform’s collar doesn’t quite reach. If Hal means to say anything, it’s quickly forgotten in favour of redirecting Sinestro towards an actual kiss.

Okay, yeah, murder’s taken a backseat to business as usual. Sinestro’s in a good mood for once, maybe that’s all there is to it. No need to worry about his psychopathic bedroom.

Except--

“Arkillo and Dez Trevius have returned from their scouting mission.” The voice abruptly rings out from everywhere and nowhere. _Ranx_ , Hal realises and groans into Sinestro’s mouth for reasons that have nothing to do with the sharp teeth pulling at his bottom lip. A sigh, weirdly exasperated, follows. “They appear to be fighting. Again.”

Sinestro does disentangle himself from Hal then, decidedly displeased, looking much more like himself. He slaps Hal lightly, no apparent motive behind it, and firmly says, “I _will_ be back, Jordan. Don’t touch anything in my absence.”

As if there’s anything to touch.

Hal salutes half-heartedly and lets Sinestro go, amused enough to find himself willing to see this through. It’s-- mundane, after a fashion, worryingly so. The unspoken trust chills Hal down to his bones. Few things do, with the life he’s lived, but in the later years of his service as a Lantern, as a member of the JL and associates, Hal’s learned trust doesn’t come so easily, not when it’s addressed to him. Sinestro, for all his paranoia and manipulation, seems to accept the occasional truce.

For that reason alone, harbouring no desire to bring any corps to its knees, Hal decides there’s no use dwelling on _trust issues_ , as Carol might call them, when he could be satisfying his curiosity during what’s probably a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

“Here goes nothing,” Hal mumbles to himself. He reaches for the nearest nightstand first, heart in his throat as he pulls open drawer numero uno out of three.

It’s--

It’s just--

Hal sinks down on the bed, defeated. The drawer’s filled to the brim with yellow rings, piles upon piles of yellow rings crammed tightly inside. Contrary to claims of sanity, the next drawer reveals much the same result, as does the one after that. He picks up a couple, just in case, and prays there’s no familiar thrill.

They’re the genuine article. Hal lets go and can offer no explanation to himself, faintly hysterical as he moves on to the other nightstand, messing up the bedsheets in the process.

Sinestro might recover from the slight disturbance of his serial killer-esque bedroom but Hal doesn’t think _he_ ever can. Already over the edge, he keeps stifling the occasional burst of laughter and sincerely hopes Ranx isn’t getting ready to go all HAL 9000 on him. The investigation proceeds.

“Come on, there’s gotta be something in here.”

Hal’s mostly talking to himself, still rummaging through heaps of spare yellow rings in the other nightstand, when he comes across a small framed photo. He pauses, all at once feeling like he’s intruding. The absurdity of the rings hadn’t prepared him for any personal effects.

It’s a picture of Soranik -- a little younger than Hal’s ever known her to be, practically glowing in what’s not too far off from the kind of graduation outfit that’d be recognisable back home. She’s smiling wide for the camera, her arms thrown around two Korugarians Hal doesn’t recognise. If he didn’t know better, he’d say they looked an awful lot like family.

Okay, so, definitely intruding.

Unwittingly taking it a step further, Hal thumbs at whatever’s tucked into the back of the frame and flips it over only to be faced with… Arin Sur.

He’s seen the photo once before. Sinestro and Arin, wedding day giddiness and the kind of love most people only dream of. Hal lingers on it without really meaning to, knows full well he’s seen this very picture destroyed and finds that he’s unable to figure out what he’s meant to do with the line running through it where it’s been folded in half, as if Sinestro had wanted no part of himself.

Right.

Not his place.

Distinctly aware of time running out, Hal puts it all back, awkwardly guilty and still in search for more. It’s not like Sinestro wouldn’t do the same to him. In fact, he probably _has_ already.

Hal, who lives in a sort of perpetual state of moving in, still finds it hard to comprehend the emptiness of the room, can’t reconcile it with the taste for the luxurious he’s come to associate with Sinestro either. His own apartment carries the distinctive air of being lived-in, a few times over even, at least, falling apart at the seams as it might be. A couple of takeout boxes and weeks’ worth of laundry really have a way of tying a home together. Similarly, Hal’s fond of the odd movie poster here and there, old polaroids, fridge magnets, menus for just about any pizza place in Coast City and the occasional post-it note Carol’s left behind. A life well lived. This isn’t-- that.

A quick glance around the room reveals one other door -- an en-suite bathroom, as Hal soon finds out. He’s momentarily startled by his own reflection in the wall-length mirror, traces of exhaustion lingering where the mask’s melted away and a much too obvious hickey already forming far beyond the reaches of his collar, but soothes the ache by blowing a kiss at himself.

Not much to see here. The very same space skincare products already reside in Hal’s own bathroom, courtesy of Sinestro’s frequent flyer perks and his insistence on a full nightly routine.

Distantly, Hal just very slightly hates that he knows that.

Sinestro is yet to return and though the idea of bailing out is steadily growing on Hal, he figures a couple more minutes can’t hurt. That’s how he ends up finding the closet, nearly identical to the wall it’s part of and equally close to unfindable, had Hal not been unfortunate enough to lean against its doors and go straight through.

Unsurprisingly by now, the closet’s an endless array of the same black-and-blue outfit Hal’s seen Sinestro wear every now and again, joined by what’s almost certainly a cape, those ridiculous galaxy-print leggings and--

“Hey!”

_Four_ of Hal’s very own hoodies, same ones he’d been ready to report missing for too long now.

It’s then the door opens and Hal executes the fastest manoeuvre of his entire career, if not _life_ , sheer panic propelling him forward. He slams the closet door shut, proceeds to throw himself on the bed and simultaneously lets the Lantern uniform fade away to nothing, artfully posing in his pilot’s jacket and faded jeans. All in a day’s work.

“You should mind your own business, Jordan,” Sinestro says, coolly disinterested like he’s not just left Hal to his own devices in the middle of a booty call.

“Come _on_ , how did you even--”

It’s not worth arguing, not when Sinestro’s joining him in bed, the faintest sketch of a smile across his lips. There’s times, Hal now knows, when you come to terms with the megalomaniacal alien you’ve been seeing being the proud owner of the universe’s worst bedroom real quick. He kisses Sinestro and sighs. It’s just what he’s been missing.

**Author's Note:**

> find me @ufonaut on tumblr


End file.
